


flaws upon your sleeve

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Clubbing, Domestic Fluff, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, also my writing style is really inconsistent help?!, supposed to be angst but fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is broken and Harry knows how to fix him. Grimshaw's a prick, Niall parties a lot, and Zayn is a seer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flaws upon your sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> So all the poetry from this story is from the brilliant Hannah. Check out more of her work [here.](http://hellopoetry.com/-hanji/)
> 
> There's also a playlist I put together for this fanfic! Please give it a [listen.](http://8tracks.com/star_sky/flaws-upon-your-sleeve-larry)
> 
> Unbeta'd and unbritpicked! Sorry for any errors ahead of time. Also Nick Grimshaw is pretty cool, no offense intended.
> 
> Song title is from Bastille's Flaws.

**worthy**  
i'm not worthy anymore,  
i never really was.  
why don't you find another one?  
one who really loves.  
no need to lose your life with me,  
you need someone better,  
i'm fated to a mundane future,  
you're fated to so much more.  
don't stay and watch me hold you back,  
when you can leave and win a war

 

*****

 

“Could you stop it?” Louis grumbles at Harry, swatting at his arm as he smirks infuriatingly. Harry pulls the container of pomade out of Louis’s reach and reads the back of it. 

“Lou, do you know how many chemicals this thing has?” Harry says in faux shock. “You’re going to ruin your hair with this… whatever it is.”

Louis gets on his toes and knocks the container out of Harry’s hand triumphantly. He flicks his fringe to the side and starts working on some sections of hair, “Shut up, H. It makes my hair look great.”

Harry hums as Louis works, sliding onto the bathroom countertop, “Not disagreeing with that.”

Louis hides his smile by pulling a grimace and styling his hair carefully. They sit in relative silence, Harry’s lanky legs hanging from the edge like a child. Wait, wasn’t Louis supposed to be looking at his hair? He forces his eyes back to himself.

He finishes in a few minutes and steps back to admire his work. He feels eyes looking him up and down and grins smugly, “Like what you see, H?”

“Yeah,” Harry says honestly, and Louis feels like something is caught in his throat. But then Harry raises his eyebrows. “Although, I think I like you better with your hair more like this-”

He reaches a big hand over to muss up Louis’s hair and starts running out of the bathroom, and Louis yells in surprise. He shakes himself out of shock and stomps after Harry, almost running into Zayn on his way out.

“Zayn, tell your stupid friend to stop inviting himself to our flat!” Louis says with irritation coloring his features, as Zayn looks at him with faint amusement. Almost like he knows something Louis doesn’t. 

“Nah, you love him,” Zayn yawns, pushing Louis out of the bathroom just as denials start to bubble up on Louis’s lips. He closes the door with a resounding thud, and Louis is left standing speechless with his mouth open. Wait, what?

“I don’t!” Louis yells through the door anyway, feeling stupid.

“You don’t what?” Harry asks behind him, startling Louis. He turns around and comes face-to-face with Harry, who’s looking at him curiously. His mouth goes dry. 

_I don’t deserve to love anyone,_ he thinks.

He says, “I don’t want to be held responsible if you suffer a mysterious death at the hands of a mysterious murderer,” and pulls a giggling Harry into a stranglehold before he can run away.

 

*****

 

**how do i be me**  
how do i be me,  
when i'm being me,  
and they all tell me it's not me?

how can i be me,  
when i'm being me,  
and they all say i'm wrong?

how should i be me,  
when i'm being me,  
and they all say i'm fake?

tell me,  
how i could be me,  
because when i am me,

i'm not me.

 

*****

 

“On the house.” The bartender winks, appraising as he blatantly gives Louis a once-over. 

Louis forces an upward quirk of his lips, winks back as he snags the drink and takes a sip. 

Music pumps through the speakers, a wild and primal beat that electrifies the dance floor with movement. The club is alive with strobe lights and leggy blondes, the air heavy with sex and cigarette smoke, a certain lethality in the atmosphere that is almost tangible.

Louis downs the rest of the drink, a electric-blue cocktail that tastes like death burning down the back of his throat. Grimacing slightly, he wipes his mouth against the back of his hand and lets the alcohol kick in, feels it sink into his bloodstream. Soon enough, Louis is making his way to the center of the dance floor and swaying to the beat, smiling coyly at strangers. A mass of flailing limbs and moving bodies. Louis relaxes into the familiarity of the scene, hands pawing against some guy’s neck as he starts to grind.

An arm pulls him away and his eyes snap open, relaxing again when he sees who it is. Tongue heavy, Louis says, “Hey Grimmy.”

Nick’s eyes are lidded and his mouth is curved into a lazy smile, hands sprawled over Louis’s hips carelessly. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and smells like weed, liquor, oblivion. His eyes are unfocused, a glassy sheen to them as he roams Louis’s face. 

“Louis! I’ve missed you, babe,” he drawls, laughing suddenly. Louis laughs back, although he doesn’t see what’s funny. Maybe he’s not drunk enough yet to get the joke.

“Want you back,” Nick says into his ear, and Louis shivers, nodding.

Nick moves in to kiss him as they grind against each other, and Louis lets him willingly. It’s all lust and heat, tongues down each other’s throats and needy. Louis loses himself in the sensation, feeling heady and breathless. They pull away for breath, still pressed up against each other.

After some more grinding, Nick whispers in his ear, voice pitched low and seductive, “Do you want to?”

Louis can feel his mouth opening, lips already moving around a “yes.” He knows he has a condom in his back pocket, little lube packet in his coat. He definitely came looking for a good fuck, and his on-again-off-again boyfriend seems like a good idea. Anything to drown out his thoughts, anything to stop from hating himself.

But then. He remembers green eyes, dimples and dark curls.

And he’s pulling away, out of Nick’s grip and backing away. They stare at each other, tense and still in a crowd of gyrating dancers.

“I- I just,” Louis starts, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. What was _wrong_ with him?

Nick blinks once, twice and then his voice goes cold and steely. He spits out, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Louis winces at the tone, the unmistakable venom in the words. “I’m okay, just - sorry. I’ll suck you off if you want.”

Nick holds the stare a little longer, and sighs. He pulls Louis in by the wrist. “Okay, love. You’ve just been weird lately and it’s starting to get to me.”

Louis bites back the words he wants to say, because who is Nick to say that he knows Louis? Who is anybody to claim what Louis is supposed to be like when he’s trying so hard to be himself? 

Louis doesn’t even know who he’s supposed to be anymore.

He stops thinking about it as he gets down on his knees for Nick in one of the stalls. 

 

*****

 

**the first date**  
in the corner  
with an iced coffee  
on a cold winter day

with a scintillation in  
your left eye  
you speak of art galleries  
contemporary museums  
Munro, Kusama, Hanson

he looks at you  
with that same glimmer  
in his right eye  
entranced by your passion  
your seemingly infinite love

the silver luminescence  
of your hair --  
your tattoo of wisdom  
an oath of a pure heart  
he can see the story

the story that you never tell  
that you carry around -- a burden  
he knew he'd hear  
eventually

 

*****

 

Louis ends up on a doorstep, badly in need of some Tylenol and reeking of alcohol, some stranger’s cologne. He raps his fist on the door, swaying a little bit. How did he get here? Is this a door, or a rectangular block pretending to be a door? He giggles at his own thoughts.

Soon, the lights are on and the door is opening, letting out a burst of warm air. Louis squints at the blurry mass in front of him. 

“Louis?” A deep voice is coming from the fuzzy shape. Louis smiles for no apparent reason.

“That’s my name,” he says, or mumbles, or something. What did he want again?

The shape comes closer. Louis can make out green eyes, and reaches out to still the face so he can examine it. The face looks puzzled, and oh! Dimples.

“Harry, innit.” Louis says in delight, pointing at absolutely nothing. 

“You’re piss drunk.” Harry wrinkles his nose, but pulls Louis into the warmth of the flat. The world seems to spiral around, but strong arms are holding him upright. Which is good, because suddenly Louis doesn’t feel great.

After a trip to the toilet where Harry has to hold back Louis’s hair, and a splash of cold water to the face, Louis feels a lot more awake. 

“Fuck me,” Louis curses, head between his knees as he deals with a terrible throbbing in his temples.

“Gladly, but maybe when you’re feeling better,” Harry says, and Louis groans louder. He buries his face in his arms.

“Hey, c’mon, you can sleep off your hangover in my room,” Harry offers, and Louis looks up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “Get you comfortable clothes, too.”

Louis stumbles into Harry’s room, feeling self-conscious, but groggy as Harry places him on the bed. Harry throws a oversized jumper at Louis and Louis pulls it over his body, feeling better already. 

Louis gives a cursory glance at the room and smiles a little. It looks exactly like what he would expect of Harry - vintage photographs pinned against a pressboard, vinyl records in a neat pile by the closet, framed quotes on the wall. He turns to say so and comes face-to-face with Harry, again.

“Get some sleep,” Harry says softly, hesitating before stroking Louis’s cheek once, twice. WIthout thinking about it, Louis nuzzles into the touch. Oops. 

They both freeze, tension in the room palpable. Harry extricates his hand and swivels back to his desk, and Louis sinks into the bed gingerly. Louis should be feeling sleepy, but he feels nothing but awake with Harry in the room. Harry, who looks at him for too long when he thinks Louis doesn’t see him. Harry, who sings when he cooks breakfast. Harry, who is working on something at his table.

Louis peers at him, “What are you doing?”

Harry pauses, pen in hand, and cocks his head, “Shouldn’t you go to sleep?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“I’m writing something.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m listening, but I might fall asleep. Still, tell me about it.”

Harry hums, “It’s about a broken boy named Will who meets another boy, Dan. He gives Will a poem a day and they sit for hours at the park, just talking. Dan wants to draw, and Will takes up photography so that he can catch every moment they have together. Dan fixes Will, but they lose contact with one another when Will gets into his dream uni.”

Louis shifts a little, “So what happens to Will?”

Harry smiles, twirling his pen. “Years later, Will is a professional photographer. He’s taken shots all over the world - Moscow, Paris, Madrid. But he always felt like he was missing something. One day, he stumbles upon a box of his old things, and he finds all the poems he got from Dan all those years ago. He goes through them and notices that the little doodles in the corner make an animated flipbook. And then he notices that the first letter of each title form a message: ‘I love you.’ Still with me, Louis?”

Louis feels his eyelids drooping and stops fighting the wave of drowsiness overwhelming him.

“Would you mind telling me the rest of the story later? I warned you that I might fall asleep.”

If Harry says under his breath, “I might fall in love,” Louis is already asleep. 

 

*****

 

**mistakes**  
They say you learn from your mistakes

All I've learned is that,  
I'm stupid, dumb, naive,  
I'm unforgivable, hypocritical --  
a bad person.

I continue to make mistakes.  
After them,  
I tell myself to try harder, learn  
But then soon,  
all is thrown away;  
returning to old habits, old games.

And again, I make the same mistakes.

Right after a blunder, I get flustered,  
So I punish, hurt, deprive myself.  
After that self-hatred, I am happy,  
I've redeemed myself,  
I got what I deserve  
and I'm better now...

Until I make another mistake,  
maybe even the identical one,  
The cycle repeats, shamelessly  
It never ends.

 

*****

 

Louis finds himself at Nick’s birthday party come Friday night, dressed in a thin leather jacket and skin-hugging T-shirt. He rings the doorbell, careful smile on his face.

Niall Horan, party animal extraordinaire, whips open the door. He takes one glance at Louis and pulls Louis in for a hug, grin enormous.

“Hey Louis! How are you, man?” he screams over the noise of the party music, and hangs Louis’s coat for him.

“I’m okay, how are you?” Louis yells back, and Niall bursts into a smile just because. He’s obviously plastered already, but his mood is infectious, and soon Louis has a glass of heavy alcohol pushed into his hand. It smells suspiciously like vodka and some kind of fruit soda. Probably Fanta.

“Drink!” Niall nods at him, so Louis downs it in one shot. Niall laughs and raises a hand, and he gives him a high-five.

“You here to see Nick?” Niall says, beaming at him. 

“Yeah, seeing as we’re together again,” Louis says as the alcohol settles in.

“What?” Niall says, blinking in confusion. 

Louis rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “Yeah, since he’s my boyfriend.”

“Louis-” Niall starts to say, but then there’s a loud “There he is!” Niall looks over Louis’s shoulder and grins wolfishly, eyebrows waggling suggestively, and he hears some girls giggling in the background.

Louis pats his shoulder knowingly and pushes through the crowd, looking for Nick. He accepts a few more drinks from strangers and acquaintances along the way, letting himself laugh at even the stupid jokes. 

Eventually, Louis catches a whiff of Nick’s cologne and sees his familiar jacket. Grinning, Louis pulls on his arm. “Hey Nick!”

He stops in place when he sees the full picture. Nick is sucking some guy’s face off intensely, and breaks away at the sound of his name. He looks at Louis briefly.

“What the fuck?” Louis sputters, shocked.

“Louis,” Nick regards him, still breathing heavily and fingers tangled in the guy’s hair.

“No, Nick, what the fuck is this?”

Nick’s eyes flash dangerously and he’s up in Louis’s face, sneering, “More like, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Louis opens his mouth, “I just-”

“You just what? You’ve been a contradiction recently, you know that? You say you want to be back together, but you spend half the time off the fucking planet. Probably at Harry fucking Styles’s house, or something.”

Louis can feel the anger hot in his veins and his palms itch, “ Don’t you fucking dare talk about him like that, Nick-”

“Or what? This is _my_ party, if you haven’t noticed-”

“Don’t get me started, you prick, or I’ll-”

“What, call your dad to beat me up? Oh that’s right, you-”

And that’s the last straw. Louis is going at Nick, pounding his fists against his stupid cheekbones relentlessly until he’s on the ground, bleeding. Nick pushes back and strikes his face hard, knuckles clenched white. 

In a red haze, Louis feels arms pulling him back and screams in frustration, clawing at everything. He’s too angry to speak, just stands there and feels burning hot everywhere. People are noticing now, and the room has gone quiet. 

From his periphery, Louis sees Niall approach him, pale blue eyes worried despite his drunken state. 

And that is something that Louis cannot handle right now. Worried friends.

Louis shoves the arms off him, mutters “sorry” and he’s out the door.

He’s running again.

 

*****

 

**headache**  
my head hurts again  
my temples are throbbing  
it feels like the pressure will squeeze my brain to bits.  
no amount of drugs can fix this.  
the loud music worsens this pain but it's the only thing  
that keeps your voice out of my ear.  
it feels like there are millions of ants on my scalp  
maybe i'll pass out soon.  
i just need you to stop.  
my eyes see blinking lights  
everything hurts.  
i can't breathe.  
i need you to stop talking.  
i need your mouth to stop moving.  
your hands to stop banging.  
your feet to stop scuffling.  
stop shouting.

 

*****

 

Louis stumbles out of the taxi, shoves the cabbie some cash (is it too much money? it’s probably too much), slurs a raspy “thank you.” He starts the dreary walk back home, cold air ghosting against his skin. The street lights dance in and out of focus, a kaleidoscope of blurry lights taunting him from his periphery.

By some miracle, Louis makes it back home and sifts through his pockets for keys. After fumbling around in vain, he freezes. Shit. Keys in his jacket pocket. 

The jacket he left at Nick’s.

Just his luck.

Sighing, Louis leans against the door numbly and slides to his feet, body hunched over knees. His head throbs incessantly, the swoosh of blood loud in his ears. His cheek stings, and he reaches up in dull surprise to feel the wet blood there. Nick broke skin with that punch? He closes his eyes and breathes.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inha-

And suddenly the whole situation slams into Louis. It’s a huge torrent of despair and self-loathing that knocks the wind out of Louis and he’s breaking down and he can feel the shudders ripple through his body and he can’t do this, how did he ever fool himself into believing he could? It’s not even about Nick or that stupid party anymore. Because he might smile, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy. Because he might have friends, but they aren’t responsible for fixing him. Because he might say that he’s “okay,” but that doesn’t mean that he’s fine at all. And maybe he never was fine.

The tears are blurring his vision and suddenly there’s not enough air, he’s choking. He wheezes, can’t fucking _breathe_ through his sobs. With a shaky hand, he taps on Harry’s number on his phone.

The phone rings once, twice, and then Harry’s voice breaks through from the other side. “Hello?”

The sound of Harry’s deep and rumbling voice soothes Louis instantly, and he hates himself more for letting Harry have this much power over him. 

“Haz,” he gets out, voice pitched all unnatural and downright wrong but he’s praying Harry won’t notice. (And if he also prays a little that he will notice, then nobody knows.)

He does notice.

“Lou?” Harry says, alarmed. “Where are you?”

“Front steps, I’m locked out, Zayn’s not in. Clumsy of me.” Lou says, trying to feign nonchalance. He winces at the sound of his own voice, raw and scratchy.

But before Louis can say anything more, Harry says, “Hold on,” there’s the sound of rustling, and the call ends. Louis stares at his phone screen for a moment, uncomprehending. The phone call duration, 1:34, flickers at him in the dark. One minute and thirty-four seconds. Harry… hung up. His heart drops into the asphalt and he throws his phone at the door, miserable. 

He feels like his heart has been ripped from his chest and tossed onto the ground and thinks about what it would look like, bleeding out on the hard cement. Spasming futilely, unable to save itself in a pool of red.

Stupid, stupid. What did he expect from calling Harry? A helping hand? Or better yet, pity? Is this how pathetic he’s become, hanging on to pity to keep living? 

A little voice at the back of his head tells him softly, _No. All you want is to be loved._

So Louis cries some more into his hands, nose dripping and throat dry and salty tears trickling into his mouth. He’s a mess and he knows it, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

But then, the sounds of footsteps and heavy panting. Big, warm hands latching on to his wrists, pulling them away from his face. Harry. Harry in just a thin shirt and skinnies.

“Lou? Ohmygod, Lou, I’m so sorry, I should’ve kept the phone call running while I drove here,” Harry blurts out, voice out of breath and strung up with worry. “You’re _bleeding_. Fuck, I’m such a twat, you don’t even know.”

“You should see the other guy,” Louis manages to croak, “Also, driving while talking on the phone. Bad. And I’m okay.”

Harry looks Louis straight in the eyes, gaze piercing. “No you’re not.”

Oh.

Then Harry’s pulling Louis up into his arms and opening the door, pulling them both into the warmth inside the house. Louis mumbles incoherently and holds onto Harry’s shoulders to keep from falling, and they’re going up the stairs.

Only, Louis doesn’t think he can keep himself from falling when Harry keeps tearing his walls down.

 

*****

 

**alarm**  
on a roof, two ropes connecting to you,  
parallel in front of me  
you're over there and i'm over here,  
and i don't want to climb to the other side.  
a fear of heights and vertigo,  
do i try or do i stay?  
you offer help and extend a hand,  
how do i reach without falling?  
the distance is such a barrier  
but i want to get to you  
i want to get to everything on the other side,  
but  
what if i fall?  
i'm weak  
i'm careless  
will i be able to do it?  
...  
...  
...  
...  
if only the alarm clock didn't go off

 

*****

 

Harry softly sets Louis down in the bathtub and shuffles through the bathroom cabinet. Louis looks everywhere but Harry, shrugging out of his jacket until he’s in just a T-shirt and jeans. He shuts his eyes and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Somewhere between his constant partying and nights spent in the company of strangers, his flat stopped feeling like home.

But something about Harry feels like coming home again. And that scares Louis.

“Louis.”

Louis starts and tries to get up, but Harry shakes his head and places a steady hand to keep him still. Louis reluctantly looks up and is caught in Harry’s gaze. They’re close enough that Louis can feel their breaths mixing together. Harry’s eyes are a sparkling green, filled with determination and a softer emotion Louis can’t name. Harry blinks slowly, then smiles slightly.

“Let me look after you,” Harry says after a moment, and runs the pad of his thumb across Louis’s jawline. For once, he doesn’t have a smart reply, anything to say to push Harry away. 

And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Trust. Louis lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and nods, “Okay.”

Harry’s answering smile is brilliant, and Louis forgets to breathe again for a second. He repeats, almost as if to himself, “Okay.”

Funny how a word can mean something else entirely in a different context.

Harry pulls forward a first aid kit and soaks a swab of cotton with alcohol. He picks up the cotton with tweezers and places a hand on Louis’s chin. 

“This is going to sting a bit,” Harry warns, and Louis raises an eyebrow in silent challenge. Harry just grins and swabs at Louis’s cheeks tentatively. Louis winces at the pain as Harry treats his cheek, but remains quiet. Finally, Harry takes a large plaster and presses it on Louis’s cheek, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Louis wants to smooth out the wrinkle with a finger.

“You okay?” Harry prompts, and Louis shrugs noncommittally, head still throbbing slightly.

“All right,” Harry says, and pulls the shower cord. Louis’s eyes widen in surprise as the water hits him. Harry gets into the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed.

Louis feels the hot water calming his nerves and sobering him, but says anyway, “Uhm.”

Harry pulls Louis up with a hand gently, “I said I’d take care of you.”

Louis concentrates hard on his own breathing as Harry washes his hair, before saying timidly, “Harry?”

“Mhm?”

“What happens to Dan and Will?”

Harry stops for a second, then continues lathering Louis’s hair with shampoo.

“Will looks everywhere for Dan, but he’s moved away from town and changed his number. He resigns himself to the idea that he’ll never see Dan again. Then, at his first photography exhibition, he sees a young man standing in front of his favorite photograph. It’s a photo of the park. Will starts talking aloud about the photograph, but the man doesn’t answer. Will realizes he’s deaf, so he taps him on the shoulder. It’s Dan. He takes a photo right then and there, and it’s the photo he was missing all that time. And they don’t need any words when they finally see each other, because their love is a language of its own.”

They’re quiet after that, and Louis lets the words sink in. Louis lets Harry towel him down afterwards, feeling oddly vulnerable. If he’s strangely obedient as he steps into a dry set of pyjamas, Harry pretends not to notice.

“Good?” Harry asks when he’s finished changing and drying his own hair, head tilted slightly. His curls are an uncontrollable wet mass, and he presses his hair back with a big hand. Louis is totally not endeared.

“Better when I get some sleep,” Louis says, trying to sound sassy but mostly coming off as _fondfondfond_. Also, he’s not sure how intimidating he is with his hair fluffy and a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

Harry just smiles some more, dimple a small crater in his cheek.

“You’re feeling better?”

“What do you think, Curly?”

“Okay. Hope you don’t mind then-”

Harry’s arms curls around Louis and props Louis over his shoulder. Louis chokes back his surprise and flails his arms wildly against Harry’s back.

“Unhand me, you giant!” Louis orders, but laughter punctuates his command.

“You’re just tiny,” Harry says, and Louis can practically hear him smiling.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis in bed, nuzzling into Louis’s hair so that his warm breath fans out against Louis hair. He doesn’t ask Louis once about what happened, and Louis falls asleep instantly.

 

*****

 

**escape**  
let's fly away  
on an endless adventure  
full of ups and downs  
but we'll always be together  
beating the odds  
of the hard times that come

let's fly away  
to a hidden dwelling  
and lay in bed  
for hours and hours  
just talking and cuddling  
and sleeping

let's fly away  
to someplace where we're alone  
and no one else is there  
just for awhile  
and we could do anything  
anything our hearts' desire

 

*****

 

Louis wakes up slightly disoriented, but feeling warm and the best he’s felt in days. He blinks himself away, yawning into his fluffy pillow. He’s at his flat?

“Morning, Lou.”

And Louis jumps, turning his head to see Harry watching him, eyes lit up like a Disney princess. His hair is a curly mess on top of his head, and his hand is drawing little circles on Louis’s arm. Louis struggles to look exasperated with Harry, but fails. 

Instead, he buries his face in his pillow, feeling his face heat up, and says in a muffled voice, “You’re such a creep.”

He can hear Harry’s amusement, “You love me.”

And Louis stills at the four-letter word. He focuses on Harry completely and takes a deep breath. Now or never. Harry watches him patiently, stops drawing circles on Louis’s arm.

Shaking a little, Louis holds up a finger, “Let me think.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just takes Louis’s other hand and presses it against his chest. Louis can feel Harry’s heartbeat racing underneath his shirt, a steady _thump thump thump._ Louis feels the corner of his mouth quirk upwards.

Louis looks Harry in the eye and begins, “ My dad left my mom when I was only four. My mom was proper torn up about it, but she’d put a brave face in front of everyone else. So for the longest time I thought that I knew. How to keep it together and be ‘okay’ so that everyone would leave me alone. I was - still am - shit at relationships, not because I don’t care but because I can’t just throw myself into things, I always have to think things through. I’d get so caught up in thinking with my head that I’d completely ignore what my heart was saying.”

Harry starts to say something, but Louis places a hand over his mouth. 

“Let me finish, love,” Louis says firmly, but his hand trembles. “I have to say it quickly before I think too much and ruin it all.”

Harry tangles their legs together and looks at Louis in quiet assent. Louis breathes and continues.

“When I met you, I kind of knew. That you would be someone important. I tried to shut you out, be snappy with you, went out with Nick, but I could feel you taking down my barriers. And I know I’m not perfect, and maybe you deserve someone better, but I’m too selfish to let you go. Half the time my head is filled with thoughts of you, and everything and anything makes me think of you. I’ve spent too long trying to stay away from you” - Louis can feel his vision blur, blinks away his tears - “and I kind of really like the idea of you and me, together. So. I’m sorry I’m not eloquent or romantic, but. I love you.”

And Harry surges up and kisses Louis’s eyelashes, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth. Louis is laughing through his tears, holding Harry close. Harry brushes the tears away with his thumb, their noses touching and breathing each other in. 

Harry says, a bit breathlessly, “You’re perfect and that was perfect and I love you and all of your little things. And don’t you ever think different.”

Louis feels drunk off Harry’s presence and laughs, eyes crinkling and hand carding through Harry’s curls. Soon they’re kissing again, slow and tender, and Louis feels invincible in his arms. 

Louis hears the bedroom door open and Harry starts to pull away, but Louis whines and pulls him back down. He can feel Harry’s lips curve into a smile against his and they melt back into a kiss. They pointedly ignore their unwelcome visitor. 

The person shuffles around and clears his throat. Zayn’s voice echoes over Louis’s shoulder, “Called it,” but his voice is tinged with something like relief. Louis hears a clink and moves a little to see two cups of steaming tea on the bedside table.

He calls out to Zayn’s retreating figure, “Thanks Zaynie!” The picture of nonchalance, Zayn gives a lazy thumbs-up and closes the door as he leaves. Louis picks up a cup and sips at it.

Louis turns back around to see Harry pouting. Which. Should be illegal with his bitten red lips. 

“You’d choose tea over me?” Harry frowns, blinking rapidly and feigning sadness.

“Tea is my eternal love,” Louis says dramatically, holding his cup close. “Nothing will keep us apart.”

Harry gasps in mock agony, clutching a hand against his chest. “You wound me! Without your love, I cannot live!” Harry falls back on the bed and Louis sets down his tea, laughing. He moves so he’s straddling Harry, who has an arm stretch melodramatically over his forehead. Louis leans over Harry, hands tingling and eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Fair maiden, how can I bring you back to life?” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear, and he hears Harry’s breath hitch.

“A kiss from a prince,” he breathes, curls laid out on the pillow like a halo. That’s all Harry can manage before Louis’s lips are crashing down on his, closing the gap between them.

And Harry and Louis became HarryandLouis and everything is maybe just a little bit perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I claim no rights to knowing what's going on between Harry and Louis. But damn, I really wish I knew!
> 
> And of course, I do not own One Direction. Once again, I wish.Please do not show this to any of the 1D boys, out of respect.
> 
> Come say hi at my [tumblr](http://hoshineko7.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Big love for kudos and comments! c:


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